


Mors aurem vellens, 'Vivite,' ait, 'venio'

by LadyMuzzMuzz



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Angst, F/M, No knowledge of ancient gods are required, Set in a Greek/Roman inspired setting, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:42:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27180085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMuzzMuzz/pseuds/LadyMuzzMuzz
Summary: You are a young woman, fated to an early grave, divinely sent to become the Priestess of the least popular God of the Pantheon.  Vergil, the God of Death.
Relationships: Vergil (Devil May Cry)/Reader
Comments: 54
Kudos: 158





	1. Chapter 1

Your worn sandals hit the wooden gangplank as you disembarked along with the rest of the passengers, pausing for a brief moment to look at the splendor of the Island of Fortuna. Unfortunately you weren’t the only one eager to make landfall, and your moment of awe was cut short, as the other passengers, mostly pilgrims, pushed behind you, each wishing to experience that same feeling of wonder.

_Fortuna…_ a glistening jewel of an island, a bustling hub of commerce, both of material goods, and immaterial ones. Where most large cities could boast maybe one, or two Temples at most, (the closest city near your village worshiped the Nameless Lady, Goddess of Revenge), Fortuna had the prestige of four separate temples, hence the large numbers of people coming to the city every day on pilgrimage.

The entranceway that the docks funneled pilgrims to was awe-insipring, beautiful white marble walls, with statues of each of the four gods.

_Kyrie...._ Goddess of Love, and of Song. Many would pray to her to find their soulmate, or to sway the heart of their desired one.

Her consort, _Nero_ … God of Protection, and of the Outcasts. One might pray to him when going on a dangerous journey, and orphans and beggars would pray for his protection.

_Sparda_ …. God of Justice. Those who sought justice in the courts, both civil and criminal, often prayed to him.

And finally, the one you had travelled months for, spent nearly all of your money on, was his wife, _Eva_ … Goddess of Childbirth….and Healing. You marveled at her beautiful lifelike statue that stood there, overlooking the bay, carrying the infant twins Dante, (God of Victory in Battle, and also of Debauchery, his temple lay far to the west), and Vergil (God of Death, his temple was...unknown, as he was not a very popular god to worship.)

Your journey was coming to an end. You would soon be able to make your plea to the Goddess, to plead with her priests and priestesses to aid you. You were running out of time.

Three months ago, you had gone to an oracle of the Goddess of Time and Space, to see what your future would hold, and to find out why you had a persistent cough. The words he spoke chilled you to the bone.

_“In two years time, Death will claim you.”_

Suddenly, everything made sense. Your periods of lightheadedness, your cough, and how simple tasks would now occasionally leave you out of breath. Already, your family was beginning to act as if you were dead, your father and mother occasionally breaking out in tears when they saw you. In an instant, your entire life’s priorities had changed. Instead of looking forward to marrying a young man in the next village, inheriting your parents; farm, and raising a family, all now you could look forward to was to live each day to the fullest, before your inevitable demise. 

_But…_

There might be another way. Perhaps one Goddess’s decree could cancel out another one. And so, you made plans. Your fiance’s family were willing to break up the betrothal. (You were slightly relieved, he was a nice man, but he just wasn’t the man you’d want to spend the rest of your life with) and your own family gave you the money that was to be your dowry. You signed away your share of the inheritance to your family’s farm to your younger brother, for an exchange of gold. And after a celebratory harvest feast, your family sent you on your way, with their blessings, hopes, and prayers. You would either come back hale and healthy, or not at all.

* * *

You couldn’t help yourself, at every opportunity, when the bustle of the crowds was not pushing you forward, you stopped and stared at the city before you. Your family was one of the most prosperous in your village, but they might as well have been begging for scraps with the dogs in comparison. Women strode by, wrapped in flowing robes, made of exotic materials, embroidered with gold thread. Men did business, each followed by half a dozen servants, each assigned to a mundane task, such as holding an umbrella to block out the sun, or to carry a parcel of business records. And everywhere, the wealth of Fortuna, no doubt flowing from its temples and the constant throngs of pilgrims, was on display, whitewashed buildings with mosaics made up of semi-precious stones. The sound of clinking coins as both locals and visitors exchanged money for the mundane, and the mystical.

You checked your pouch for what seemed like the hundredth time. Your trip had been taxing, both on your body, and your coin purse. You had just enough for an offering to access Lady Eva’s shrine, and to make your plea for healing. After that? Well, if it was successful, you’d find a way back home, you had skills that would fill your stomach and purchase passage back home, or to wherever your heart took you. (after all your traveling, you’d appreciated the vastness of the world over your tiny little village). Or… you’d spend your final days, penniless and alone. 

Slowly, you realized that you’d not be alone in your situation. For even fortunate Fortuna, a city gilded in gold and marble, had a foundation made of rotten wood and crumbling sand. In alley ways scuffled the dregs of society, the forlorn and forgotten residents who could not take part in the bounty that the upper crust enjoyed.

And on even closer inspection, your amazement turned to disgust. For in a city that had a God of Justice, injustice reigned supreme, where unscrupulous vendors sold cheap trinkets for exorbitant prices, while the authorities looked the other way. A city that had a God of Protection, the strong dominated the weak, men in silk robes kicked dust in emaciated beggars faces. And a City that had a Goddess of Love, its residents cared for little besides themselves, and how to attain more wealth, how to exploit the visitors and the underclasses for their own benefit.

You munched on some stale bread, watching with growing horror as the facade disintegrated before your very eyes. The sooner you got out of here, the better. To be stuck on this island would be a death sentence, even if you were healed. But even in such dire straits, you admired the poor people’s resilience, their ability to endure. Not far from you, several scruffy children played knucklebones on the cobblestone, enjoying their life to the fullest, oblivious to their poverty. At least there was some innocence in such a cruel world.

From a distance you heard the sound of neighing horses and metal on stone. The throngs of people, both locals and visitors quickly got out of the way of a chariot going much too fast for such a narrow road. Its driver, a young man, bedecked in gold medallions laughed heartily along with a pretty young wench, dressed in equal finery. They sped along, their black stallion steeds frothing at the bit, uncaring of the danger they put the surrounding pedestrians in. Thankfully, they made such a racket, that nearly everyone was able to get out of their way in time, shouting curses at them as they went past, which were ignored. Even the raggamuffin children, intensely focussed on their game, realized the danger, and quickly scattered to the wind.

Well, all except one. A little girl, no older than ten, her frazzled red hair tied back in a rough ponytail, had either not heard the approach, or didn’t have the speed of her playmates to get out of the way.

Hopelessly, you attempted to run towards her, to get her out of the way, but even you knew there was no way you could have reached her before the chariot, which didn’t slow down at all, collided with her tiny body. And so, with a horrific sound, the girl was trampled underfoot, by four pairs of hooves, and one set of wheels.

You had expected the chariot to stop, or at the very least slow down, but the driver was either unaware, or more likely, didn’t seem to care, as it sped around a corner, one wheel lifting up as it did so. The last thing you heard was the crystal clear laughter of the youth, without a care in the world receding into the distance.

In the following silence, no one made a move towards the girl, in fact, after a few moments of shocked horror, everyone went back to their daily activities, as if nothing had even happened. The sprawled out body of the girl was to them, a piece of trash. At least with her fellow playmates, their disappearance was understandable. But there should be at least one kind soul that had the decency to care about the well being of this small child.

You would be that person, as you used your well worn staff to propel yourself towards the girl. Blood dribbled out of her ear and nose, and she remained still as death, but your fluttering fingers found a faint pulse, and to your great relief, a breath. Still, she was in a bad state, and would need help, if she would have any chance of survival.   
Quickly, you scanned the meandering group of people, who were watching you, while attempting to look like they WEREN'T watching you.

“Please!” You shouted, and for a moment, everyone froze. “Is there a healer here? Or does anyone know her parents?” After a brief hesitation, everyone went back to whatever more important tasks they had originally set out to do.

“ANYONE!?” You cried out, the smell of the girls blood choking your lungs, “Will anyone help?” No one did. The only response was the small whimpers and moans of pain from the unconcious girl.

Well, if no one was stepping up, you would have to be the one to save her. A farmer’s daughter, you knew all types of cures and treatments, but something like this? This was beyond your skill, most likely beyond the skill of even a physician. And as you looked up, to see the shining marble statue of Eva, her smile radiating down upon you, even from this distance, you realized that there was still a chance to save this flickering flame. Placing your staff on your back, you picked up the limp girl, and made your way to your ultimate destination. Strange, the girl seemed to weigh nothing.

* * *

You reached the gilded doors of the temple of Eva, guarded by two men, their bronze armour buffed to a shiny gleam. They were intimidating, but you had to try, for this little nameless girl's sake. 

As you attempted to cross the threshold, in unison, their spears crossed, barring your way. You could always have attempted to push past them, but, odds were that the oracle’s prophecy for you would come true much, MUCH quicker.

“Please,” you pleaded, “This child needs healing, she needs Mother Eva’s blessing.”

“None enter this temple without an offering.” Their tone was as unyielding as the door behind them.   
“God's mercy! This isn’t some scam, a life hangs in the balance!”

The men scowled, and you couldn’t help but pull the child closer, to protect her.

“Fortuna’s laws are clear, the sacred places cannot be sullied by the empty handed.”

There would be no use arguing with them, even in such a dire situation. And so, you came to a fateful decision.

“I… have coin… the pouch on my hip.”

Within a blink of an eye, the one guard snatched it, and began to pour out your literal life savings into his palm, while his comrade kept his spear pointed at you. The greasy clink of coins being counted was the only sound you could hear. The man muttered something intelligible before pocketing the money, the gold being swallowed by billowing reams of cloth. 

Without warning, the child was yanked out of your arms, and the guard carried her (far too roughly, in your opinion) into the sanctum. You went to follow, but the remaining guard blocked your path.

“Only those with an offering may enter,” he repeated mercilessly.

You were flabbergasted “B-but that’s all I have! I’m not going to do anything, I just want to make sure she’s alright!”

“Lady Eva looks after those who have made a sufficient gift, now begone!” And using the shaft of his spear, he shoved you to the ground, straight into a dirty puddle.

Part of you wanted to get up and punch him, part of you wanted to try to rush past him in an attempt to see the girl. The cruelty of it all was immeasurable, if the girl made it, she’d wake up alone and scared, and most likely possibly thrown out the moment she recovered.

But what could you do? Here, you had no friends, no connections, and now, most importantly in this wealth obsessed city, no money. And so, with a heavy heart, you attempted to wipe off some of the mud on your cloak, used your staff to pull yourself up, and left to go back to the pilgrim’s hostel, of which you had previously bought a night’s stay. Unless one of the Gods pitied you enough, it would be your last nights in relative comfort. All your travels, everything you had done for the past month...was all for naught. There was no way you could raise enough money for an offering...well, in time anyway. You were doomed.

You sat on the side of your cot, chewing on the last of the bread in your pocket. You wanted to give into despair, to just give up entirely. Tears in your eyes, you fell into slumber, with your only consolation was that the nameless red headed little girl would have a chance at the life you could never have.

* * *

The garden was beautiful, more than anything you’d ever seen in your travels. Vines climbed over ancient pillars, their leaves glossy and healthy, while vibrant blue roses bloomed, their sweet scent wafted over a barely there breeze. Statues of couples in romantic postures dotted the landscape, with the centerpiece being a winged man encircling both his arms and wings around his beloved, a woman carrying a harp. The fountain they stood atop of flowed out crystal clear water, which you could have sworn gave out an aroma of its own. What had you done to be invited to such a gorgeous locale? You wracked your mind, trying to think of how you got here, but all your memories of the past seemed to be clouded by fog. And strangely, you didn't seem to be worried about your inability to recall anything.

“Welcome!” A woman’s voice drew you out of your thoughts, and before you, a young woman smiled gently. You could have sworn there had been no one there a moment ago. “I have been waiting for your arrival for quite a while, please, this way.” Her arm, with simple gold bracelets that secured her sleeves, waved over to a set of klinai.

A mahogany table, with bowls of grapes, pomegranates and an assortment of other fruits, as well as a jar of wine, sat between the couches as both you and your host took your seats, and you enjoyed the texture of the cushioning crimson velvet.

“I’m sorry,” you apologised, “I didn’t mean to make you wait.” 

Her laugh was musical, and entrancing. “No, it’s not you that is at fault. Fate often decrees that we must be patient.” She brushed away her vibrant red hair as she poured you a glass of wine, which you sipped. Whatever vintage it was, this was so good, it seemed out of place for a mere visit.

“Let me clarify,” she said as she plucked a grape from the bunch, “I haven’t been waiting for you specifically, but for someone of your selflessness and charity.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. You had no idea what she was speaking of, you were no more,no less righteous than the average person.

“Long have I despaired, for the rich people of my city have grown cold and hard, looking always to themselves than to their fellow men and women, while the poor cannot afford to do anything but focus on their very own survival. It took an outsider, someone not even coming to my temple, to show the charity that I so desperately sought.”

Before you could ask her to explain, a sparkling light enveloped her, almost blinding you, and as it dissipated, the woman had disappeared, replaced by a vaguely familiar child, her red hair in a less frazzled ponytail, dressed in brilliant white robes with a dusting of gold, instead of...rags?

She giggled, waved at you as you began to connect the dots, and with another equally blinding burst of light, transformed back to her adult self.

The cup of wine you held clattered to the ground, spilling its blood red contents upon the ground, as the realization hit, and you quickly averted your eyes, not daring to make eye contact with her.  
“L-lady Kyrie,” you stammered, terrified. For a mortal to look upon the Divine was a death sentence, “I-i didn’t realize...forgive your humble servant.” You attempted to get off the couch, in order to supplicate yourself, to spare yourself from her wrath, but were stopped by the gentlest touch upon your chin, slowly bringing your face upwards to her beautiful visage.

“What kind of host would I be if I struck down a guest I had invited? She chuckled again, sending tingles up and down your spine, before answering her own question, “a very poor one.” She relaxed back into her couch, “Without hesitation, you aided a stranger, and gave everything you had to save her. Such an action deserves to be granted a boon.”

Instantly, your mind went to the Oracle that had predicted your death.   
“Can you cure me?” Kyrie may not be the goddess of healing, but she was a Goddess, such a thing should not be beyond her power.

Unfortunately, her expression fell, “Sadly, I cannot. Not even Lady Eva could save you. Even us deities are bound by the decrees of the Lady of Time and Space.” Your heart crumbled. Your journey to somehow heal yourself had been doomed from the moment the oracle had murmured those words, no...most likely since before you were born.

“But…” she said, “I have a way to give you purpose...to hopefully make your final years make an indelible mark,” her hazel eyes were soft and sympathetic. “To the North, where the graves are made of red granite, lies Vergil’s temple. Long has it been forgotten and abandoned, and as much as he would deny it, he needs a priestess, to serve him, to help him remember…”

_Remember what?_ You wanted to ask, but the world seemed to be a bit fuzzier, like a fog was billowing in.

“Make your way to that temple, and be His Priestess” Kyrie spoke, softly, but with the firmness of a sacred order, her face already obscured by mist, “In time, both you, and He will understand…”

* * *

A rush of wind, blew over you, and you awoke in a sweat, gasping for air in your cot. Such an intense dream, it had felt so real, but that’s what it all was, merely a dream. The question was, now that you were awake, where were you? Ah, yes… you were in a hostel in Fortuna...dying from an incurable disease and completely...broke?

To your left, glittering under the light of an oil lamp, was a golden coin, leaning against… your old coin purse? How odd, last time you had seen it, it was in that grubby hand of that guard that had cruelly ripped it away from you. And even odder, it looked like it was much fuller than before, as you hesitatingly reached out for it, your eyes widened to the size of platters as gold coins spilled out. Even before you had set out on your journey for salvation, you hadn’t had this much. You looked around rapidly, to see if there was a sign that someone had placed it there, but the only change was a single blue rose, freshly plucked, that lay on the table beside it. You swung your legs over the side of the bed, and you contemplated what it meant in the early morning stillness, your fingers caressing the velvet petals.

Taking a deep breath, you placed the coin purse on your belt, and with the help of your sturdy staff, you got up. You had a long day ahead of you. It was time to leave this island, with all of its corruption...and head…

_North._


	2. The flame is relit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Vergil acts like you'd expect from a God of Death

In the past few months, you had traversed mountains that seemed to reach to the heavens, vomited over the sides of boats that bobbed helplessly through a storm, and yet this final ride, sitting on the back of a simple wooden cart as it travelled, was the worst by far. The road, if it could be called that, was not kind to your behind as it bumped along, long grasses brushed along the sides, occasionally whipping you in the face.

Of course, you could have had it worse. You could have been forced to walk along what was no more than a glorified goat path, but then this farmer, on his way home from the marketplace, offered you a ride. It all seemed to be a fortuitous coincidence, an alarmingly suspicious one. Just like the boat that just happened to be setting off from Fortuna, despite it being before sunrise, and just so happened to have a spot for one more single person. And despite all the times you bartered for passage, or purchased food and shelter, the coin purse never seemed to get lighter. So you put aside your uncomfortable situation and sat back among the supplies as the final leg of your journey continued. Already, among the overgrowth, you could see hints of red stone, remnants of graves, their inscriptions long worn away by the weather. You were close, and even a large jolt couldn’t take your mind off what was to come. The trepidation, the nervousness, the...excitement. 

“You alright back there, Miss?” The farmer yelled back, “Sorry, this cart ain’t built for passengers, just for supplies. And only me and a couple other farmers take this road

“It’s quite alright, Master Elesion,” you cheerily replied, only wincing slightly as one wheel hit what felt like a boulder. 

The jovial man chuckled, “Now, now…. I ain’t some noble, just some humble farmer. Enrico will do just fine.”

“Well, thank you Enrico, I hadn’t expected the road to be so…” you attempted to find a diplomatic way of speaking about it “rustic.”

The man slapped his leg, and let out a hearty laugh, his dark brown hair escaping from under his hat, “That’s one way of putting it, like I said, only me and a couple of the other farmers use this path, much quicker than the main road. He adjusted the reins, clicking his tongue at the horses to pull harder as they attempted to get out of a small rut in the road. “You won’t believe me, but back in my grandfather’s grandfather’s time, this was a gleaming road, filled to the brim with people comin’ and goin’,” his face fell, “Not much anymore… you’ll see why soon.”

The horses began to be a bit more antsy, and Enrico began muttering soothing encouragement. “Hey girls, it’s okay...it’ll be okay.” 

The reason for their sudden skittishness was almost immediately, the long heavy grass abruptly gave away to...nothing. In front of the horses was a cracked stone road, and on both sides, was bare, lifeless looking dirt, with nary a stalk of grass, nor a trunk. The closest thing to living vegetation was the dead leaves that seemed to blow in from the surrounding area. And the silence! You hadn’t noticed it at the time, but behind, you heard the creaking and buzzing of insects, the chirping of birds, in front of you....nothing. It seemed that there was not a single living thing on this gently sloping hill, not even moss growing between the stones.

“There it is…” the farmer said, with just a touch of fear, “Vergil’s temple. Nobody’s had the stones to spend any time, aside from the youngin’s daring each other. Land’s been lifeless for generations… People say Vergil cursed the land to wither around it, after one of his priests betrayed him.” He steadied his horses once again, as they gave the impression that they wanted to bolt. “Hell, my girls won’t probably get any closer to this place.” He glanced at you, “You sure about this Miss? I wouldn’t blame you if you back out. We have an extra bed in the farmhouse.”   
You slung your pack over your shoulder, and hefted your staff to get out. “I’ll be fine, but I appreciate the concern.” You smiled a reassuring grin, and with a wave, you watched him head off, the way he kept glancing back at you indicated that he was less eager than his horses to leave you here.

* * *

The temple was magnificent...or would have been, several hundred years ago. Pillars of marble held up a frieze showing engravings of weather worn figures. You could make out an identical set of men, standing side by side, one of which had to be Dante, the other Vergil. You saw a depiction of flames, and both of them men striking down a three eyed cyclops, with their signature blades. Rebellion, a weapon that cleaved its way to victory, and Yamato, a blade so sharp it was said that Lord Vergil used it to cut the soul from the body at death. Another relief caught your eye, of a young man, similar to the twins, but dressed in the raiments of a traditional poet. Which was odd, because you were certain by the dress and the pose, that it was supposed to depict V, god of lyric poetry, but it looked nothing like him, instead of the lanky youth with the shoulder long hair, he had swept back hair, was older, and bulkier. The inscription that should have shown his name had been frustratingly worn away...or chiseled out.

Your sandals echoed ominously as you went inside the building. It was decrepit, with dead leaves and branches forming a layer of decay, blown into the corners. You tentatively nudged a pile of leaves, expecting to hear the scurrying of insects and rodents fleeing at the disturbance, but there was nothing. On a closer examination, you realized that there were absolutely no signs of living things, no tracks, no mouse droppings...not even a cobweb.

Well, there was one living thing, at least you thought there was. Coiled around the inner pillars were thorny ivy vines. Thick as your waist, they sprawled everywhere, almost blocking your path to the inner sanctum. No...not ivy, as they had no leaves, and didn’t seem to go towards the sun. They looked more like they were growing towards the ground, like...roots. You remembered your father worried about some weeds found in the corner of one of your family’s wheat fields when you were a girl. The flowers were pretty, but he explained that the plant was dangerous, poisoning the soil so that none, save it, could grow, and so the only way to stop it was to burn the plant and the surrounding foliage. Perhaps that is what this strange plant did to the area.

You followed the roots, and realized they converged, not at the base of a tree, but at the sacred statue at the centre. It towered over you, three times your height, a ferocious monstrous figure, draconic in nature, with wings spread out, nearly touching the walls, a tail that looked disturbingly similar to the roots coiled around the base. So, this was a statue of Vergil, or specifically, his divine form. If looking at the ‘human’ form of a god was a death sentence, looking at their divine form in the flesh would drive one mad, so it was said. You felt small and insignificant against this massive stone statue, and for the first time, you wished that perhaps you had taken Enrico’s offer.

But no matter, you had a divine purpose, and Nico strike you down with Her hammer if you didn’t complete it. So, after sweeping the debris away from the stone altar, you placed the firewood you carried. (How you were going to get more to feed the sacred hearth.... Well, you’d find the way.) You poured a flask of consecrated oil, the type usually used to bless newly built buildings, over it, soaking the wood, and with a flint, you created a spark.

For what probably was the first time in ages, a warm glow painted the walls with flickering orange. Unsure of what to do now, you did the sensible thing to do in a temple and knelt to pray. In your travels, you had tried to find information about the ancient rites for this fearsome god, travelled to repositories of scrolls, but there was nothing. You had no idea how to serve as a priestess, and what would happen if you failed. Perhaps he was a finick-

A sharp chill crept up your spine and you swore that the flame in front of you flickered, as if blown by an invisible wind…. 

_ You were not alone. _

* * *

Slowly, and with a touch of confusion, Vergil awoke. He usually slumbered, only awakening on the approach of intruders, or to make sure the Qliphoth was growing as planned. Regarding the latter, it was healthy, and still growing, with the hint of a bud beginning to show. Soon, it would flower, and then shortly after that, assuming there were no complications, it would bear fruit. Only a couple more centuries…

His brother had called him ‘crazy’ when he had told him his plan, to plant the Qliphoth within his own soul, but Vergil ignored his protestations. Dante had tens of thousands of worshippers, which made his power immeasurable. But for Vergil, no one worshipped the God of Death, no one prayed to him, aside from people on their deathbeds, making a last minute plea to him. There was no way he could be powerful like his father, mother, or even his annoying little brother, especially after his betrayal by one he had trusted. So he had gone to the Goddess of Space and Time, to find a way to obtain more power, and for once, she gave a rather straightforward answer.

_ Plant a Qliphoth Seed within your Heart, and only then, when it bears Fruit, will you understand True Power. _

So then, despite nearly every God in the Pantheon disagreeing with him, he chose the drastic act to be the soil in which the Qliphoth would sprout from. They didn’t understand, they COULDN’T understand. From Credo, God of Courage, to Trish, Goddess of the Storms, they all had something that brought people to Them, to serve Them. To be a God was power, and without it, he was no better than a mere mortal. Granted, even in his weakened state, he was much more powerful than any human could ever hope to be, but without worshipers, without people praying to him...he was nothing.

And so, for what seemed like countless years to the mortal eye, but was merely a long rest for him, he had slumbered as it grew, and fed off the surrounding countryside. It consumed the vegetation, the wildlife, and occasionally interlopers, gorging on their precious power-infused blood. Even then, the few people that came to visit nowadays were the local children, daring each other to go into what they thought was the ‘cursed’ temple. For the most part, he had forbad the Qliphoth from feeding on them, not out of any moral sense. A child’s blood was far too weak to be worth the risk of the locals burning down the temple in retaliation. Besides, the terror and awe the young ones gave out as they approached as close as they dared to his decrepit shrine fed the Qliphoth quite well. Not as well as blood, mind you, but it was the next best thing.

So, when he awoke to the sense of an intruder, he was confused. There was fear, that could not be denied, but it was tempered with something else...determination? That, and the warmth of his sacred hearth, lit for the first time in centuries, piqued his curiosity.

He didn’t manifest himself in a physical form, not because he was weak (of course not, that would be absurd) but because he wanted to observe his visitor undetected, and so he stalked the hall of his temple, the setting sun casting dark shadows over the debris on the floor, and entered the inner sanctum.

He had not been mistaken. His sacred fire had indeed been relit. And before it, knelt down in prayer, was a small figure, mouthing words silently. He was perplexed at first, this woman, was she a pilgrim? Was she lost and foolishly assumed this temple was a sanctuary? 

But her robes, a scarlet red, with gold tassels told him the truth. This was a priestess. And as a Priest could only claim one God as their ‘patron’, that meant she had chosen...to be his priestess.

Vergil was taken aback. Ever since the Qliphoth had first sprouted, fertilized by the blood of his betrayer, there had been no worshippers, the few remaining priests fleeing in terror as the roots spread everywhere. And just like that, the temple was abandoned, left to rot, but out of fear, never destroyed. Slowly but surely, the roots began absorbing all life around it, leaving the hill his house of worship stood on a wasteland.

He told himself that it didn’t matter, that he could afford to wait, after all, it was just a matter of time before the fruit would ripen, and then he’d have no need for priests, pilgrims, or mortals at all. He. Would. Need. No one.

So why was he so interested in this mortal? Aside from seeing from what possessed her to come to this forsaken place.

She jerked up, and Vergil silently cursed. She hadn’t been pretending to pray, she was a true believer, hence being able to sense him, even if he was invisible to her. He couldn’t hide his presence from her.

“Who’s there?” She asked, wisps of fear flowing off of her, which the roots lapped up. “Show yourself!”

He smiled, as he drew closer to her, to the point he was right behind her. He couldn’t help but play with this new toy he had been given. 

“Such hubris, for a mortal, demanding something from a God” he whispered in her ear, and she froze, and even in the orange glow, he could see the blood drain from her face. She was smarter than he initially thought, as she instantly supplicated herself to the floor.

“Lord Vergil! I-I… a thousand mercies! I thought…” The terror was delicious, he could feel it in the roots, but he couldn’t let it overwhelm himself….or cause the woman to flee.

“Now now,” he said with faux politeness, “I will let it slide, for now, on the condition you answer my questions quickly, and honestly. Now stand.” his voice barked out the order, and he noticed the shakiness and effort it took her, not totally due to fear.

“Yes, my Lord”

“First question: Why are you here?” The answer was obvious, but he wanted to hear it from her lips. 

“To..to become your priestess.” the answer came quickly, even as she kept her eyes fixed on the tiles at her feet.

“A bit odd, as I have had none for many of your lifetimes,” in truth, he was puzzled. He might be out of touch with the outer world, he knew that his temple had been forgotten aside from local farmers who kept a safe distance. And she, going by her scent, which reminded him of waves and distant soil, she was not from around here. “What brought you here?”

“I was sent.” 

Her response was more firm, which was good. While fear was good food for the plant, it would never come close to proper worship… or blood. He couldn’t just have a servant forced to worship him out of terror. But he still hadn’t had his question answered.

“By who?”

There was a slight hesitation, not because she was afraid he would punish her, but that he might punish the one who sent her. She took a deep breath. 

“Lady Kyrie sent me.”

Vergil clicked his tongue in annoyance, causing the woman to flinch, most likely thinking he was about to strike her down. 

“Of course,” he muttered, mostly to himself, “she would put her nose where it doesn’t belong, trying to ‘fix’ things that do not need ‘fixing’.” He sighed, and the priestess stood stock still, like a deer. As annoyed as he was and the young idealistic goddess’s idea of ‘helping’, he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak. A priestess, with a lifetime of devotion and worship, could hasten the blooming of the Qliphoth by several decades...a lifetime...he drew closer to her, and she shuddered, no doubt feeling him right next to her as he analyzed something that had bothered him...there was something about her… a hint of decay… and it took the God of Death no time at all to figure out what it was. 

“You are not long for this world,” he stated flatly.

“No my Lord, I was given two years by the Oracle.”

He pinched his brow. What was that daft girl thinking, sending him a priestess that would be dead in the blink of an eye. Was this some sort of ironic joke? Kyrie wasn’t that sort of person, that would be more like his brother’s doing to pull a prank like this. She had to have known about the woman’s fate. He stared at her, trying to figure out what to do. It would be kinder to just have the Qliphoth impale her, and absorb her blood, it had been far too long since it had tasted the powerful crimson liquid.

_ But… _

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that brief as it was, a few years of service and devotion was better than nothing. And besides, at the end, he could just absorb her blood when she passed. He might even be able to do her a service, ending her final days before the suffering got unbearable. Making his decision, he pulled back and he could see her relax slightly. 

“Well,” he said with a touch of annoyance, “don’t just stand there, continue with your duties.” She startled, before hesitating. “Pardon my inquiry my Lord, but...are there any duties that I should be doing? I’ve never done this before and… I wasn’t able to find any information about rites to you.”

“So quickly are the old ways forgotten,” he sighed, disappointed. Well, he shouldn’t fault the woman, it had been a long time since his priests had fled, and even if they had written down the sacred rites, paper was even more fragile than human memories. And, he thought to himself, the woman had at least attempted to find out the long lost knowledge, he’d give her some credit for that.

“Well, it seems your training will start tomorrow, but for now, finish your prayers and do whatever you need to set up your living arrangements. Night is falling soon, and I would be an ungracious host,” he couldn’t help but let a little sarcasm slip out with those last two words, “if I let my priestess collapse from exhaustion.”

She almost lifted her head, before remembering her place and staring down again. “Thank you, my Lord.” She remained in her subservient position for almost a minute after he had withdrawn, no doubt worried that she might accidentally look up and see him, before finally finishing her evening prayers, and setting another log for the hearth to burn throughout the night.

* * *

It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep, and Vergil supposed she had traveled a long way to get here. Looking at her meagre possessions, it was rather easy to tell her travels. Judging by the well worn pilgrims cloak that had once been brilliant white, but now smudged with dirt, she’d gone to Fortuna to plead with his mother for a cure. But not even his mother could overrule the Weaver of Fate. Somehow Kyrie had gotten her soft hands on the woman, and steered her to hm. For what purpose, he had no idea. For an instant he thought perhaps she had tricked her into thinking that if she served the God of Death, she’d be spared, but quickly threw it out. As sweetly annoying as she could be, she would never deceive a mortal like that. He looked at her other items, a traveling staff that showed heavy usage, and would most likely see much more use in the future. A scroll with what seemed to be instructions on basic temple rites, and a disturbingly small amount of food, mostly stale bread and dried fruit. It wouldn’t do at all for his priestess to collapse from malnutrition, so he stalked outside of his temple...the first time in at least a hundred years. 

The area of wasteland had gotten bigger, he noticed, as the Qliphoth did its slow but steady work, and with each step away from his temple, he could feel his power diminishing. A shame, that he was more a prisoner, than a God. But again, he reminded himself, once the fruit ripened, he would never be shackled again, not by any God, nor mortal, nor even Himself.

Thankfully, just before his leash tightened, he reached the stark dividing line between life and death. He closed his eyes for a minute, and reached with his diminished senses to feel what he sought. There, a dozen paces away, two hares munched on shoots of grass, oblivious to the danger that stalked nearby. 

Silently, he pulled out Yamato, and with a silent slice, both lay still, eyes wide open. He picked them up and paused. Human blood was precious, but in a pinch, animal blood would suffice. He could give one to the Priestess, and offer one to the roots...but something inside of him, some annoying little voice said that wouldn’t be worth it. The longer he kept the Priestess alive and healthy enough to do her duties, the more power the Qliphoth could accumulate.  _ And wasn’t that, _ he thought to himself as he walked back towards the orange glow emanating from the ancient building, a sight he’d almost forgotten,  _ the most important thing? _


	3. Firstfruits Offering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay!

The sun shone in your eyes, causing you to flinch. How long had you slept? Of course, you’d had a long trip, and your body didn’t have the stamina it used to, but surely you wouldn’t be so negligent as to sleep until mid morning? But the way the shadows caused by the pillars stretched out on the marble, you had definitely overslept. Using your staff, you almost ran into the inner sanctum, terrified that you had the sacred fire die out. From your interactions last night, you were almost certain that Vergil was not the type of God to have his rites besmirched. What a dishonour it would be, to be slain for blasphemy on your first day as Temple Priestess!

Thankfully, the flames still flickered, albeit weakly, eating the last of the log, the embers now almost ash. 

So you gingerly placed another log from your small stash, as to not smother the little flame. You cautiously began to blow at the base of the charred log, only stopping when the flames began to lick and scorch at the new logs shreds, kindling into a new flame. With a sigh of relief, you slowly got back up. In the light of mid morning, the temple, while eerily silent, was less foreboding than last evening, and the whistling wind seemed less strange. 

Even the presence of Vergil, unseen, but ever present was much less terrifying. You could feel him, watching your every move, but not as overwhelming and less judgemental as last night, you still felt him as you walked back to your messy bedroll. After all, he could have just struck you down for sleeping in, for almost losing the fire, he was well within his rights as God within his Temple. But he just remained silent as his shrine statue.

You arrived back to your modest sleeping area, and as you rolled up your bundle, you noticed something. There, sitting at the foot of the bed was a bundle of brown fur. Upon closer inspection showed that there was one...no two...rabbits laying dead. For a brief moment, you panicked, you had heard of feuding families leaving dead animals in the beds of their enemies as a warning. But these ones seemed placed at the foot of the bed, and not where you would have noticed them upon waking. And the way they were positioned, they kind of reminded you of when the barn cats would present dead mice to you and your siblings, as some sort of ‘gift’. Had Vergil given them to you as a ‘welcome present?’ You had to stifle an inward snicker at the mental image of the God carrying the pair of rabbits in his mouth before dropping it at your feet, and you hoped that he didn’t have the ability to read minds. But, even though you still felt like you were being watched, there was no change in the intensity, and so you relaxed, and allowed yourself to utter out a soft _ ‘Thank you’ _ into the still air. There was a shimmer in the light, the roots of the giant plant seemed to shift slightly, but then, all was silent. You picked both of the rabbits up, and a knife contemplating on what to do with them. Skinning them would be the first step of course, but what then? Roasting them sounded delicious, but you had no time to turn a spit, undoubtedly today would be busy. But perhaps...a stew? You had a turnip, and some wild herbs that you’d picked up on your travels. Unfortunately, a stew was not a stew worth eating without some bread to soak up the juices, and you were practically down to crusts of bread so stale, that not even an ocean of stew would soften them up....

“Hello?!” A voice rang out, startling you out of your thoughts. You placed your knife down and followed the voice. From what you had heard, no one ever came here, the entire countryside thought land was cursed, and the temple shouldn’t have any visitors. Still, it would be rude as Temple Priestess to not greet the person, even if they were lost.

“Hello? Anyone here?” The voice repeated, more louder, and it came from the common area. Strange, you swore you could smell freshly baked bread.

Ah, there the visitor, a plump, auburn haired woman with a ruddy complexion, dressed in a simple peasant’s dress, carrying a basket, looking around slightly worriedly, and muttering to herself.    
“I do hope nothing bad happened to her, if something did….Enrico, I’m going to...” she growled, but whatever her threat was cut off by your appearance.

“AH! There you are! When I heard that my  _ Dear _ '' the faux deference dripped through, “husband left you all by your lonesome here, at NIGHT of all times, without inviting you to spend the night at our farm place, I was THIS close,” she pinched the fingers of her free hand together, almost touching, “to making him sleep with the pigs. Damn fool…” she brushed the hair away from her face, and looked around. “So, I told him that I was going to come here this morning, and that he either come along, or be in charge of all the chores.” She chuckled, “Guess which he picked? He’s so superstitious, he’d rather have to milk the cows, feed the chickens, AND look after our little son than set foot here. Anyways,” she smiled and gave a curtsy, “I’m Cecilia Elesion, wife of the lovable idiot, Enrico. And I figured to myself, ‘that poor girl is all by herself, a newcomer, with no one lookin’ out for herself, so I’m gonna take a look out for her.’ Rico begged me not to go, but I insisted. It’s ‘bout time someone took care of this Temple, it’s been abandoned for ages.” She took a look around, her eyes trailing the roots that wound themselves the pillars. “Ah, yes...I suppose you could call this a ‘Welcome to your new home’ gift. I made em’ meself!” She handed you the basket, and the gingham sheet that covered slipped off, revealing several loaves of freshly baked bread, some even designed in a braided pattern. This wasn’t the leftover scraps of a farm wife's dough, these were the first loaves. Cecelia was obviously sincere in her devotion. 

“Thank you!” you breathed in the scent as you took the basket. After months of bread hard enough to crack teeth, warm fresh bread was glorious. It would make a fantastic addition to the rabbit stew you had planned. It would be your first proper meal since you had left your home village. For an instant, you felt a bit homesick, memories of your mother’s hearty stew. You grasped her hand in thanks, trying to invoke a blessing, but a familiar chill trickled up your spine, and you felt a whisper in the shell of your ear.

_ “Ah….it appears she has been blessed by my Mother….” _ Vergil’s voice nearly startled you, unexpected as it was. He’d been so content to lurk in the background, that you’d momentarily forgotten about his presence. You paused for a moment, a frown on your face as you tried to decipher what he said. Eva’s blessing… AHA! The generous woman in front of you was with child, even if she didn’t show it, perhaps she didn’t even know it.

“Is something wrong?” Cecelia asked, misinterpreting your frown for a concern. You hesitated, not knowing how to go around such a delicate subject. As a child, you remember your mother slapping a man when he asked her when she was expecting, even when she wasn’t pregnant. Should you even mention it? You decided, you had been given a message from a God, it wouldn’t do to not relay it.

“I am just a little concerned with you going through all this effort, carrying all this load while expecting.” After all, a pregnant woman shouldn’t exert herself too much. She should be informed of her condition, in order to prepare herself.

Cecelia’s reaction was unexpected. She turned pale, and a tinge of fear passed over her face. “You...you could tell?”

Ah, so she already knew.

“Well, I was told,” you admitted, glancing at the statue. Strange, she should be happy, excited for a new addition to the family, not looking like she was about to burst out in tears.

“No one knows yet, not even Enrico.” she confessed, a sheen of sweat coming over her forehead. You quickly leant your arm to help her down to the floor. “We’ve tried so hard after our only son, so many losses, that this time… this time I couldn’t bear to let him know, I didn’t want to get his hopes up once again, only for them to come crashing down. Our little Credo...he was our miracle child...I had resigned myself to focusing on just him.” She looked at you, dawning horror on her face. “ _ He _ told you? Does that mean…?” She couldn’t speak further, the poor woman looked like she was going to pass out.

The whisper came again, without a hint of deception,  _ “I have no claims on her unborn child nor her, not for many years, my Mother shall guide her through both their journeys.”  _ His words, while spoken firmly and without empathy, were a relief to you. 

Oh, so this was going to be a Priestess’s job? You’d always assumed that it would be a rather insular job, tending to the hearth, offering prayers, not relaying messages like the more outgoing Gods’ priests. You knelt down towards the trembling woman, speaking as soothingly as possible. “It’s alright...He has spoken to me, and he says that you and your child are safe.” 

The woman scanned your face, trying to find out if you were truly speaking the truth, or just speaking false words of comfort, before the impact of what you had said hit her.

“You’re...you’re certain?” 

You nodded, inwardly relieved as the ruddiness returned to her cheeks. What you didn’t expect was her hugging you.

“Thank you, Thank you, Thank you!” You swore you could hear your ribs cracking, “A thousand blessings upon you. You have no idea how much both of us have been praying to Mother Eva for another child, we were almost planning on making a Pilgrimage to Fortuna. But if you and Him say…” she looked to you for one last confirmation, and smiled brightly. “Rico will be delighted when I tell him. And to think…” her old grin came back, “he’d rather clean up chicken droppings than set foot in this place.” She looked down at the basket, momentarily forgotten, “this is poor payment, but is there anything, ANYTHING you need that our family can provide, we can do it.”

“Well,” you thought. In truth, the fact the Temple was located on lifeless ground, meant you were without much sustenance, so maybe… “Wood for the sacred hearth. I need a supply to keep the flame burning.”   
“Say no more,” Cecilia assured you as she got back onto her feet, “you will lack for nothing. We’re just poor humble farmers, but we can provide you and Him the essentials. Whatever you need!” 

She gave a curtsy to you, paused before the statue, and clasped her hands to speak a short silent prayer. For a brief moment, you swore you saw the roots quiver, but when tried to take a closer look, they were still. But something in the air was different, other than the smell of bread, there was a vibration, a smell of fresh earth, but then it was sucked up, like water to a dry sponge.

And with that the woman left, a spring to her step, so out of place in such a dour looking place.

* * *

Vergil watched as the little plump woman hurried out, singing a merry tune. Mortals got far too excited over small things. While he spoke the truth, that for now, he had no claims on her or her child, in a short amount of his time, he would claim one, then the other. That went for everyone, none could escape his reach. Perhaps that’s why people were afraid of him, that they would attempt to avoid his inevitable arrival to end their pitiful lives. But this was strange. That woman had… thanked him? To him, a God of Death, be given thanks felt...fulfilling. A surge of energy, more potent than life blood coursed through him, and the Qliphoth’s roots seemed to twitch in response. 

“Well, that was kind of you.” His sense of puzzlement was dissipated as the voice of his Priestess, who was watching the woman’s receding form. 

He stood beside her, still invisible and scoffed, “She provided an offering, I felt it would be poor form to let her leave without being compensated.”   
“But you didn’t have to do that. You made her so happy!” she placed her hands together, “If you did that more often, perhaps more people would visit your temple!”   
“And what makes you think I want people to ‘visit’?”   
“Well…” she stroked her chin, “I assumed you would be lonely all by yourself here. After all, that’s what temples and shrines are for, right? To be a meeting point for both mortals and Deities. Us mortals give you offerings and our prayers, and you give us advice, prophecies and sometimes intercede on our behalf.”   
She looked outside. “Where I come from, in the wild forests…packs of monkeys and herds of deer travel together. The deer, with their keen noses, lead the monkeys to fresh vegetation with nuts and fruits, and the monkeys, sitting high above the trees, have a good view of the surrounding area and can alert the deer when a tiger is prowling downwind of the herd. A relationship in which both benefit.”

Vergil was annoyed by her simple observation. “I need none of that.”   
“Well, you’re the only God I know who doesn’t appreciate or encourage worship. Lady Trish has people flocking to her for her for rain-bringing storms, Lord Dante practically has entire battalions marching through his temples, praying for victory. Even poets and writers make the pilgrimage from miles to beg the gift of inspiration from Lord V-”

**“DO NOT SPEAK THAT NAME!”**

The roots of the Qliphoth rippled with energy, and he had to control them from jerking. Just the mention of that cursed name brought back memories that he could barely bear. In response to his rage the roots demanded blood, lifeforce, something to sate their ever ravenous hunger. And they sensed the Priestess, standing there, so weak and vulnerable. Easy prey.

“I’m sorry,” she spoke apologetically, but refreshingly not with overly emotional supplication. Just her calm voice, startled at his outburst but without the expected fear, was enough to let his rage subside. She stood there, unaware how close she was to death, her eyes staring through him. She still couldn’t see him, of course, he would not allow it, but her steady and firm stance was unafraid of his wrath. Perhaps her expecting death in such a short time left her without fear. 

_ No, _ he ordered them to stand down, and they reluctantly complied,  _ she has no idea of what she speaks of,  _ he thought,  _ and besides...she still has more use to me alive than dead...for now. _

Still, his rage hadn’t truly subsided…did he really need her, another priest that would eventually stab him in the back?   
“I need no one.” He hissed, his voice sizzled through the temple like a winter’s wind. “I need no worshippers…. _ I need no priestess.” _

And without allowing her to respond, he left, not even looking back. She would no doubt leave after his outburst...any sane person would. He was fine with that.

He did not need her.

He did not need anyone. _   
  
  
_

_ All he needed was power. _

**Author's Note:**

> The Title of this story is a translation of Virgil's (the poet) line, _"Death twitches at my ear. 'Live,' he says, 'I am coming.'"_


End file.
